Carpe Nocturne
by Pink-Amethyst
Summary: Seize the night" in Latin. According to Dannielle Baker, her life is pretty much hell on Earth. Once she discovers her writing talent and interst, Danielle learns how powerful words can really be.
1. Chapter 1

Carpe Nocturne ch 1

The dust swirled around my feet and the hot February sun beat down viciously at my back. The sharp stones pricked through my flip-flops and sent jabs of pain into my already swollen feet. I grumbled to myself and cursed the sky. _Darn whether, _I growled. _It's February, for crying out loud! _I wiped my hand across my forehead, trying in vain to dry it off. My shirt and shorts were already plastered to my skin, and I still had a good mile to go. The dirt crunched and ground between my toes and shoe. Ugh. I hated being dirty. I would've stripped off my shoes right then and there, but my poor feet needed all the support they could get, even if it was from dingy rubber flip-flops. My ragged messenger bag felt as if it had the world inside it.

If only.

I slowed down, matching each step to the beat of my heart. Still too fast. The wind rushed around me, whipping my golden bangs into my eyes. The dust picked up too, showering me in a wave of sand and dirt. I cursed the whether again. Stupid darn Texas. Finally I entered through the stone columns that marked my prison: Sawyer Ranch. I slowed down until I was barely crawling, letting the sun make its mark on me. Who would care if I burned to death? If only I could be that lucky.

"I'm home," I called, much too loudly, letting the sound echo its way back to me. Like anyone cared.

"Danielle!" my grandmother cried in a shrill voice, sweeping down the stairs like a dove. Except she looked more like a crow with her flat black eyes and gray-streaked black hair. He skin was wrinkled and withered around her beady little rat's eyes as they analyzed your every move, plastered to her thin face like bark hugging a tree. She was incapable of smiling. I wondered if that was because she couldn't with her frail skin or just because she loathed everything. Friends, family, co-workers, wounded animals. . .

Oh, yeah. And especially me.

"Stand up straight!" she snapped and fluttered towards me. I immediately straightened my posture and tried to rub the worst of the grime off my face. She circled me slowly, one claw-like finger tapping her lip like I was a piece of meat for selling. She grunted. "It'll do. Now go make my spaghetti. An old friend is stopping by for dinner and I need everything in prime condition. Move!" she bellowed the last word as I flew up the stairs, my schoolbooks thumping rhythmically into my side as I retreated.

I sighed as I entered my room, after stumbling up the six-feet rickety latter separating my "bedroom" from the rest of the house. It had been an attic, but my grandmother had so graciously cleared everything out for me, leaving an air mattress, dresser, and a lamp that was no doubt a serious fire hazard. The social workers had let me take a few things from home, like a roll top desk, candles, and a mirror. Everything was stained dark, besides the mirror. The glass was clean and smooth, polished daily, set inside the metal frame. It had no colors, but the metal twisted and twined gently into flower patterns, climbing the side like it were alive, desperate to reach the sun. I traced the soft rose gently with my finger, like coaxing it to live.

"Start cleaning!" I heard her shout from somewhere downstairs, then the blare of the TV as she settled in to watch her favorite reality shows.

I sighed again and plopped onto my mattress and put my head between my knees. After rising before the sun then scrubbing down the whole house, my feet and legs were aching. Then I went to school. I longed to lay my head against the pillow and never wake up, but reality was calling. I grabbed the bucket from the 2x2 closet and set to work with the mop.

After several hours of vigorous mopping, scrubbing, and polishing, the house was finally in order.

"Go clean up," Grandmother ordered and gave me a slap for good measure.

"Yes, Grandmother," I mumbled and slipped up the stairs as quietly and quickly as possible. I barely made it to my bed before I collapsed on my abused feet. I made a mental note to ice them later, and groaned as I stood up to shower. I gathered my black-and-white ensemble and trooped to the shower. I was very disappointed with the face in the mirror. Who was this terribly average girl with matted hair and in need of a good bath? Surely not me, with her sunken eyes and empty expression. Not me with the age and suffering of a forty-year-old etched onto my fourteen-year-old skin. But it was, and all my fruitless hoping couldn't change that. I sighed and let the hot water of the shower pound my tight shoulders. It burned a little on the welts from the belt, but I scrubbed my skin clean, biting my lip as the stinging started. As I reluctantly turned the shower off, I wondered vaguely if it were tears or bathwater rolling down my face.

After twisting my hair into a honey-colored doughnut at the nape of my neck and spritzing myself with lavender spray, I finally felt able to go downstairs. Mercifully, my grandmother is a believer of sensible footwear, so I am spared the tragedy of heels and I'm wearing my slender black sneakers. I'd cleansed my fingernails and skin till they gleamed. Hopefully I'm presentable.

My grandmother surveys me speculatively as I come downstairs. She snaps a short "satisfactory" before sweeping into the dining room, meaning I am to present the first course. The heavy silver tray feels smooth and familiar in my hands, and I go over the rules of guests: I am not to speak; I am not to complain; if someone compliments me, I am to merely nod.

I hitch the try high on my shoulder and ghost into the dining room. My grandmother sits there at the table, making dumb small talk and laughing at jokes that aren't funny. Her wine glass totters unsteadily in her hand as she reaches to refill it. The guests smile politely at me: a short, balding man about five years younger than his partner, a tall, stick-skinny woman with rattling bangles and blood-red lipstick. I walk past with my head down, serving and refilling water glasses; my grandmother is the only one who has taken even a sip of wine. The woman smiles kindly at me, and I flash her a brief, closed-lip smile when I thought my grandmother wasn't looking.

As I wait in the kitchen for the shout for dessert, my day catches up with me. I wish I had a book. I wish I had stolen that nap in Algebra. I wish I had never been born. Because when you're not alive, you never have to clean.

"Danielle," my grandmother slurs from the table, "Dessert. Now."

I shuffle inside and lay an elegantly iced slice of chocolate cake in front of them. The woman takes a glance and says, "Did you make this? It's beautiful." She pauses to take a bite. "And delicious," she added after swallowing. The man nods his agreement.

I give a slow nod. "Thank you," I whisper. The woman gives me a quizzical look, but I can't answer because my grandmother seems to come to life.

"Oh, well, look at the time. I bet you must be on your way." She stands up without even looking at the cake and begins to say goodbye. The woman notices and her eyes harden just a bit. "Goodbye, Jane, Dan. Have a lovely evening," Grandmother trills as she waves them out the door. I see Dan snidely swipe the cake before walking to the hallway. I smile just a little as I go to fetch their coats from the hook in the kitchen. As Jane is sliding into her coat, she says to me, "Oh, how pretty you are, dear. What's your name?"

Grandmother pokes me in the back just hard enough to make me wince slightly. "Danielle," I mumble without meeting her eyes.

"Well, Danielle, it was delicious. Thank you." I nod. Jane's smile falters slightly as she steps out the door. "Goodbye," she calls over her shoulder, but the door was already swinging shut. Grandmother gives me an icy glare. I shut my eyes, waiting for the sting of the palm to my cheek, or the protest when my hair is pulled.

"I don't want you making such an impression again," Grandmother growls. "You work for me."

"I'm your granddaughter," I whisper, but she hears me.

"But your mother was no daughter of mine," she barked. "Running off to marry that lousy dirt bag of man at eighteen. Then what does he go and do? He leaves her! And she dies grieving over him!" Her eyes flash as a wave of torture washes through me. "Therefore, you are no granddaughter of mine." I feel the hot flash of pain of the belt on my legs. "You are an employee. And employees who don't do their job are fired."

"How do I not do my job?" I mumble to the floor. "I get up before dawn and scrub this whole house spotless. I'm a straight-A student. I come back and cook and clean and do everything I'm supposed to without a word." My monologue fades into silence as my head droops more to the floor. I knew this was a wrong move. The sting hits me once, twice, three times more. A yanking of the hair and a shove toward the stairs ends it, and Grandmother sweeps off to bed without a goodnight.

The tears start before I can stop them, flowing hot and fast down my face as I stumble blindly to my room. It takes all my energy not to dive headfirst onto my bed; I strip down and fall to my knees in my underwear, ripping my hair out of its bun. I yank a sweatshirt over my head and stumble to my desk. I reach into the drawer and fumble for the matches. I strike one swiftly across the coarse square and it blazes to life. I waved it across the desk, casting the whole room into luminous shadow. I pull out my notebook and begin to write:

_I swept across the darkness into the glistening moonlight. I feel the pursuit behind me, but no attack is coming. Yet. I creep quieter into the forest, and the leaves cease crunching as I slip off my boots. I look up at the full moon, acting as my unearthly guide. I marvel over its beauty, but my lapse in attention could be deadly._

_Suddenly there are leaves crunching behind me. I don't dare even to breathe. Then the heavy footfalls are upon me, and I'm diving into the dirt, the forest floor. A heavy weight is on my back, and I can't breathe. I begin to scream. . . ._

My fatigue overpowers me, and as my head lies gently onto the desk, I could swear I heard an echoing scream. The cool dark wood is pressing on my cheek, inviting dreams, inviting an escape, so I float willingly into the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

Carpe Nocturne ch 2

I woke up from my light slumber to find all the candles on my desk still burning, casting me in a soft golden shadow. I try not to close my eyes, knowing what I would see. My worst nightmare, not just figuratively. I drag myself downstairs and begin preparing Grandmother's breakfast before I think about it anymore. As the eggs fry, bread toasts, and coffee boils, my eyelids are suddenly made of lead. My head begins to spin. I leaned on the counter and dropped my head into my hands.

"Danielle," my grandmother greets me as she shuffles down the stairs. "You need to go to the grocery store after school, so my friend Jane's grandson is going to give you a ride to and from school. He should be here in a half-hour. Get ready."

"Okay, thanks." I say as I slap some eggs on a plate and shove it into her hands. That was strangely generous. I wondered what was with my grandmother. As I climb the ladder into my room, I feel a sudden surge of nervousness. I would be riding to and from school with a _guy. _A guy who's probably older than me, if he can drive. I'll be riding with an _older guy. _Oh crap.

It's not like he should find me attractive in any way. I'm just me, a typical, normal, plain-Jane from New Jersey. A shy, quiet, awkward girl with uneven teeth and split ends. I sighed and moved around my room, dressing in denim shorts and a white graphic tee. Then there was a knock on my door. Strange. I thought my grandmother couldn't climb those stairs. I swung open the door with a sense of impending doom. _She's probably here to beat me more for skipping the cleaning this morning, _I thought in panic. Suddenly I wished the door was still between us. A door made of lead. With some seriously muscled bodyguards. I unconsciously scratched at the red welts on my leg. I was only just starting to heal.

Surprisingly, she held a plain blue shoebox in her hand. What was in it? Live scorpions? Tarantulas? Leave it to Grandmother to get creative. She thrust the box into my hands. It was surprisingly heavy and solid. Something unknown clunked around inside.

"I've noticed that those flip-flops are getting pretty worn out," she said seriously. "So I got you these." I lifted the lid off the box and saw some slightly beat up black Converse. I didn't know what to say.

"Um, thanks," I mumbled. "Thanks a lot."

"You're welcome," she snapped. Then she glanced towards the door. "Cody is here to get you."

"Okay," I murmured. "I'll be down in a sec." I ran to my bed and yanked the shoes on my feet. They fit like a charm. I slung my bag over my shoulder and made my way through the house. "'Bye," I called to Grandmother. There was no answer; I shrugged and made my way outside. A very old pick-up was sitting in our driveway, looking very out of place next to my grandmother's mustang. Suddenly I was very nervous. What if he thinks I'm just a child? What if we sit in awkward silence the whole of the two rides?

I was very careful as I climbed into the passenger side. Cody sat behind the wheel, and he turned the radio down so it was some background old country station. I put my seatbelt on, suddenly terrified to be strapped in. What if this was my grandmother's punishment? What if Cody could be some freak and the car doors would never unlock?

Um, paranoid much?

"Hey," Cody said and stuck out his hand. As I shook, I looked him over. He had medium-length brown hair, a soft, musical voice, and electric green eyes. His hands were soft and warm as they cradled mine. "I'm Cody. Cody Stark."

I smiled. "I'm Danielle. Danielle Baker."

"Danielle," he murmured. "That's pretty."

I blushed and looked down. He looked very satisfied as he turned back towards the wheel and began to back out.

"Oh no!" I gasped. My notebook had fallen out of my bag, and when I bent to pick it up, I saw my blank math homework.

"What's wrong?" Cody asked. He seemed genuinely concerned.

"I forgot to do my homework," I mumbled. "And I only have ten minutes."

"I could help. What's it on?"

"Umm. . . ." I scanned the paper. "What do you know about function tables?"

"Quite a bit," he answered. Wow. He was hot _and _smart. "What's number one?"

"What's the rule that could get me from two to three, but also works for three to five and four to seven?"

"Well, let's think," he deliberated. I could see our time running out as the highway whipped past us. "It's not add anything, because the numbers that you would add are not the same. What about times two?"

I tried it. "Almost, but not quite. It's still one too many."

"Then how 'bout times two, minus one?"

I tried it, and it worked perfectly. "Hey, it works!" I grinned. "Thanks."

"You sound so surprised I got it right," he said with mock hurt.

"Well, it was _quite _surprising. This is some hard-core stuff," I answered sarcastically. As I worked on the rest of the paper, Cody kept up with a stream of banter and often had me laughing until I couldn't breathe. The math was simple and insignificant with Cody there to help me. I had only one problem left when we pulled up to school. Cody, surprisingly, swung the truck into a spot so I could finish. Once I did, he cut the engine and turned to look at me.

"By the way, Danielle, what grade are you in?"

"Eighth," I answered. "I'm fourteen." He nodded. "What?"

"Nothing," he shrugged. I tilted my head to one side.

"How old are you?" Even if I already knew the answer, I still had to ask.

"Sixteen."

Of course. Now I know I don't have a chance with him. I still felt slightly rejected; I wondered why. It's not like I had a shot with him. As gorgeous as he is, he must have half the school's girls falling all over him. I shook my head with a small smile. I must be really vain to even think he might be slightly interested. But I knew that wasn't true; I ad an amazingly low self-esteem. Whatever. At least I had my dreams.

Then I checked the clock. "Oh, shoot," I muttered. It was 8:40. I only had five minutes to get into school and change for P.E.

"What?"

"I have to go. Thanks for the ride."

"Anytime. I'll be right here at 4:15 so we can go shopping." He smiled. I laughed and began to climb out, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

"Danielle," he said before I closed the door. "Don't keep me waiting too long." He flashed another 1000-watt grin. I grinned back and shut the door, walking across the narrow street and under the front roof overhang, and I looked up to see him waving as he drove away.

* * *

The bell rang, but the class was still in chaos. People were sitting on desks and throwing things, shooting rubber bands, and shouting. I sat by myself in the corner desk, hoping the class would settle down before the teacher came in.

"That's the bell," Ms. Jenks said, almost having to shout over the noise. "Talking ceases." That's her second-favorite phrase. The class was still cawing like a band of monkeys. Introducing favorite phrase: "The next person to make a sound has lunch detention."

The room immediately fell silent. Ms. Jenks smiled. "We'll begin presenting our poems today. Please remember the rules when someone is presenting. . . ."

Her voice faded into a quiet hum inside my head. As if I ever made a sound anyway. I ran my finger over the words on the crisp white paper declaring our monthly poetry project: "Write a poem to describe your personality. It could be your thoughts, feelings, or ideas, but they all must center on your personal image." I swallowed loudly. I loved to write anything: short stories, poems, sentences using new words I'd discovered, anything. It was the reading and the staring part that had me worried.

"We'll go in alphabetical order," Ms. Jenks declared. "First up: Aarons." Oh no. 'Alphabetical order' might as well mean 'all possible ways to torture Danielle Baker'. As I thought, Courtney Aarons began to read:

_How I love me._

_I'm so pretty and smart._

_I have such wonderful ideas_

_That everyone should shut up_

_And listen to me._

_My hair is gorgeous,_

_My body is small and slim._

_My wardrobe is to-die-for,_

_And don't even get me started on my eyes._

_How I love me!_

Courtney finished and flashed an award-winning, you-better-like-it-or-my-attorneys-will-eat-you-all-for-lunch smile. The class responded with scattered applause and a whistle or two. She grinned like a crocodile and flounced back to her seat, her eyes glinting menacingly.

Ms. Jenks tried to hide a smile as she looked down at her list. "Danielle Baker," she announced and motioned for me to stand. I walked to the front of the class, knees shaking, clutching my paper as if it were a life preserver. The room seemed to swim and twist at odd angles; my stomach was doing flips. I looked down and saw my entire body visibly trembling. Ms. Jenks motioned for me to begin. So I began to read:

_Shadow_

_You seem so distant,_

_So very far away._

_I want to meet you,_

_To know you someday._

_I feel like a shadow,_

_Like I'm not even there._

_Watching and hoping,_

_Just floating on air._

_My shadow knows how timid I am,_

_I just want you to know who I am._

_An outsider, a stranger, a freak._

_My eyes are open,_

_But they don't seem to see. _

_I wish to speak out_

_And let my voice be heard._

_My shadow yearns for sunlight,_

_An escape from the darkness,_

_An escape from this life._

_So it's just me and my shadow,_

_Sitting small and alone,_

_Upset and scared,_

_Hesitant and torn._

_I shadow this life,_

_Living, but unable to feel._

_I wonder how I can get out,_

_How to make myself real._

_My shadow knows how timid I am,_

_I just want you to know who I am._

Face burning, I drop my eyes back towards the paper. The class is still and silent. Suddenly they erupt in applause, whistles and cheering and clapping echoing in my ears. I smile to myself as I shuffle back to my seat, and Courtney shoots me a murderous glare. I smile wider and resist the urge to stick my tongue out at her like a five-year-old. The color slowly creeps out of my face until I'm normal again, and someone is still clapping. Ms. Jenks waves her hands to settle them down and says, "See! That is what I'm looking for!"

The class begins to cheer again, and I yell internally, an amazing feeling soaring inside me.


	3. Chapter 3

Carpe Nocturne ch 3

"Hey, look at you," Cody laughed as I climbed into his truck after school. My hair was wet and sparkled with rain droplets, my whole body shivering. The temperature had dropped dramatically, soaring from seventy-five to forty-five in the course of a few hours.

"Darn Texas," I grumbled. Cody just laughed. I shivered again, the tremors making a beeline down my spine until my toes were shaking. Cody spoke, still chuckling.

"If you're cold, there's a jacket in the backseat." He started the car. I twisted around the seat and grabbed the tan leather coat on the floor. It had a red flannel inside and smelled faintly of peppermint. I snuggled into it, enveloping myself in its folds. The heat blasted out of the vent, drying my hair and stinging my nose.

"Thanks," I mumbled as Cody made his way down the highway. The car seemed to glow from the heat; I could feel it dripping down inside the seats and warming me.

"Anytime." He looked out the windshield as he spoke, but he appeared to be smiling. "Got that list your grandma gave you? We have some pretty intense shopping ahead of us." He turned towards me and flashed a wry smile. I gave and almost inaudible giggle. "What are you so happy about?" he continued as he switched on the windshield wipers.

"What do you mean?" I asked, staring at the marks of the wipers on the glass.

"You've been laughing the whole time. I would like to think that it was just my charm, but you were smiling before you ever walked in here. And I _know _I'm not that funny." He smiled again.

"Okay," I giggled. "I'll give you that one. It's just. . . .would I sound really corny if I said my wildest dreams came true in English class?"

"That depends. Did a unicorn come flying out of the ceiling?"

"Better," I laughed.

"Okay, this has to be good. What's better than a flying unicorn?"

"Oh, I don't know. . . .the apocalypse?"

"How is this the end of the world?"

"It's the end of the world as I know it. I wrote this poem. . . .and they liked it."

That wasn't such a big deal to anyone else, but to me it was the sun breaking through the clouds. In a totally non-desperate way.

"So are you like this super-amazing writer in disguise?"

"Kind of," I shrugged. "I don't know about the super-amazing part, but I really like to write. And I've wanted people to read what I write ever since I started. Words are very powerful; I want to make a difference."

A long moment of silence answered this profound speech, and for a few seconds I was panicking. A lot of questions were running through my head, like: Did he think I was too straightforward with my ideas? Did he not like me now? Did he ever like me in the first place? Who liked to write anyway? Then the most important: Why did I even care?

"Can I read the poem?" Cody asked quietly, and I realized we had stopped moving. We were sitting in the parking lot of the Super S, just sitting there in this overheated cavity in awkward silence.

"Uhm, sure," I said slowly, taking it out of my bag. "Why not?" My heart began to thump unevenly as I handed him the paper. I began to sweat as Cody's eyes skimmed down the paper. His eyes bugged out, and he read it again.

"Wow," he mumbled, handing me my assignment back. "You wrote this?" I nodded. Cody shook his head in wonder. "Wow. It was amazing."

"Thanks," I said with a smile. "We better get going," I realized after a second of quiet. "We have some shopping to do." He grinned and opened the door. I stepped out into the slowing mist and we grabbed a cart and walked into the store. My senses were suddenly overwhelmed by all the different smells: vegetables, spices, citrus fruits, candy. . . .it was like heaven. I checked the list. "I need. . . milk, eggs, cheese, butter, chocolate chips, grapes, oranges, bananas, cookies. . . ."

Cody held up his hands as if to surrender. "We'll go one by one," he suggested. We talked and laughed as we made our way through the store, and I noticed something odd. I had immediately been mesmerized by the beauty of Cody, and it seemed other people were seeing it too. Though as they looked at him in wonder, several girls shot me nasty glares, like they were. . . jealous.

I smiled. Who had ever been jealous of me? Besides if you count Martha, my very best (and only) friend who liked my writing, the answer is _no one. _ I suddenly wanted them to think Cody was mine. What's the harm? I made a point to make eye contact with him when he was speaking, smile back when he flashed me grins, and walked so close to him our arms were brushing. Cody didn't seem to mind the extra attention, and sometimes blushed when I was caught smiling at him for too long.

Way too soon we were loading our things onto the sliding black belt. The cashier lady looked at Cody once and shot me an approving glance, as if to say, "Nice pick." My grin widened like a Cheshire cat as we made our way through the glass doors and to the truck. The rain had stopped, but the temperature had dropped a little. I cowered into Cody's jacket. As we loaded the groceries into his truck, Cody kept laughing and smiling, and I almost died when I watched his muscles ripple when he picked things up.

When we were sitting safely inside Cody's truck, he turned to look at me. "What time are you expected home?"

I shrugged. "As long as it takes to get the groceries home, I guess."

Cody smiled. "Great."

_Great? What does that mean?_ I pondered as Cody drove home. The radio played a familiar song, so I reached out and turned it up. I sang along: "Romeo take me to somewhere we can be alone, I've been waiting all that's left to do is run. You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess, it's a love story baby just say yes. . . ."

Cody started laughing. "I take it you like this song."

"Yup," I replied. "Anything to do with them, really. I love "Romeo and Juliet". I think it's really romantic." I smiled. "I like love stories."

Cody chuckled. "Me too."

We were pulling into my driveway. Now that it was over, our time together seemed much too short. I liked Cody already, and considering he wasn't running away screaming, I wanted him to like me. He had already walked around and helped me out of the car. Swinging two bags of groceries into each of his arms, he followed me as I went to unlock the door. There was a note on the outside. It said: _Gone to go eat with Maria. Be home at seven. G_

_Since when do I call her "G"? _I wondered warily as I switched the lock into the door. It swung open and I led Cody to the kitchen. As he set the groceries on the counter, I suddenly felt a little guilty that he took all of the bags. I checked the clock: 6:01. I had almost an hour to kill before Grandmother came home. "You can stay, if you want," I suggested to Cody, who was standing awkwardly in the doorway as if he wasn't sure he should leave. He smiled.

"Sure."

"Um, I'll show you my room," I said quickly and started to dash up the stairs. Big mistake, I realized when we got to the steps that had to be pulled down from the ceiling. I had kind of forgotten my room was an attic. "My room used to be the attic," I explained. He was wearing a bewildered look when I started to pull down the rickety folding wooden stairs. He climbed up after me, and too late I realized my shorts were kind of short and he was _right behind me._ I swung myself quicker than normal into the yard-long hallway to my door. Cody followed me into my room, and I was suddenly hyperaware of how close we were in this tiny little room, with a big empty house and no adults for at least an hour. I shivered.

"Um, have a seat," I said quietly, realizing (again too late) that the only available seats were side-by-side on my bed. Strangely, he sat down without hesitation and looked around.

"Nice room," he said kind of strangled, like he was nervous. Why he had a reason to be nervous was beyond me. He was a hot, experienced sixteen-year-old sitting next to an ugly, clueless fourteen-year-old. I shivered again.

"It's stuffy in here," I blurted suddenly, trying to fill the silence. "Why don't we go for a walk?"

Cody's smile brightened several thousand watts. I had to hold myself up on my desk chair. "Sure," he agreed easily. "Let's go." He stood up in one fluid motion and I followed him numbly out of the door. He smiled the whole way out of the house and onto the sidewalk. We started strolling in a random direction; my head was still swimming too violently for me to tell which. As we walked, my stomach heaved a little. _What if he might like me?_ A tiny part of my mind wondered. _What if he kisses me?_ My smile sank a little. I was totally inexperienced. _Don't_ _be absurd, _the more rational side comforted me. _You've known him for less than twenty-four hours and you've already concocted fantasies because you like it when people are jealous of you. _That stung a bit, even if it was true. _I know. I'm stupid, _the emotional side agreed. _Yes, you are, _the serious side counteracted. _Now shut up and talk to him._

"Danielle," Cody said quietly. "Earth to Danielle," Cody sang, waving a hand in front of my face.

I smiled and laughed. "Sorry," I giggled, "be warned that I do that a lot."

"Speaking of the future, what would you say if I said that I wouldn't mind driving you to and from school ever day?"

I was rendered speechless. "Um, if you're sure," I finally managed.

Cody looked bewildered for a moment. "Why wouldn't I be sure? Face it, Danielle, you're cool. Deal with it." I laughed a little and blushed. "Anyway, I wanted to ask you something," Cody continued like he couldn't hear my heart thrumming. Which he totally could, I was certain. "That Shadow poem. Is that how you really feel?"

I was quiet for a minute. "Well, yeah," I finally say.

"Why?"

He asks this like it's obvious. "Um," I mumble, "well, I don't really relate that well to people. I feel like I'm on a whole other wavelength then everyone else all the time." I hid my face, wishing that we would stop talking about my social retardness. "Plus, I'm really quiet, shy, and have a tendency to kill every conversation with my 'smart talk'."

He looked shocked and a little angry. "Whoever doesn't talk to you because you're smarter than them is a stupid, condescending—,"

"Stop," I cut him off. I was really confused. Why would a smart, hot, nice high school guy waste his time with me? I looked deep into his glimmering green eyes, and I had a strong roll of nausea when I realize that I am _so _out of my league. I searched the depths of his swimming-pool-clear eyes, trying to see the reasons behind his words. "Why do you even care?"

"Look Danielle," Cody says, suddenly agitated, "I want to tell you something, but I'm afraid I'll scare you off."

I snorted. "Try me."

"Okay, look," Cody says, and wiped nervous sweat onto his shorts, "I kind of feel like. . . .like I know you or something. And wow, this sounds dumb, but I feel like I've known you, that I can relate to you, I don't know, like you would understand, like you get me. . . .wow, that sounded corny." He laughed.

"No," I shook my head, eyes contemplating, face serious, "it sounded exactly right. I know, I can't explain it, either. Freaky, huh?"

"Yeah," he said, a mixture of wondering and awe, "weird." And then, right there on the street, Cody hugged me. He pulled me into his arms and wrapped them tightly around my waist. Mine went around his shoulders and I hugged myself to him. Then he laughed. "Sorry," he giggled, "that was kind of random. Not that I didn't like it. . . ." he pulled away and grinned crookedly at me.

"Come on," I said, laughing too. "We should get going." I started leading him down the street, in the opposite direction, towards my house. As we walked through the door, I saw my grandmother peering out of the window. Uh-oh. I hadn't realized it had gotten so late. She shut the blinds; I slipped out of Cody's jacket before we got inside. He looked a little confused and hurt, but took it. I made a mental note to apologize for that later. I walked in the door with my stomach twisting with unease. "Um, Grandmother, I take you met Cody," I said quietly.

He smiled at her and reached out to shake. "Nice to see you again, Ms. Baker." Grandmother smiled tightly and squeezed his hand just a little too hard. After wincing when he pulled away, he said, "I was going to tell you that I wouldn't mind taking Danielle to school every day."

Grandmother's eyes tightened. "Well, I don't see why not," she murmured with a little reluctance. "Be sure to take care of her, young man," she said sternly, going all psycho-parent on me. "You did do that today?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, ma'am," Cody replied. Now I heard he had a soft country twang. Kind of sexy. I smothered a giggle. "Of course."

"Then I guess we'll see you tomorrow," Grandmother icily dismissed him. "Drive carefully."

"Yes, ma'am," Cody replied again, and flashed me a half-exasperated, half-amused grin before he walked out the door.


End file.
